


Always You

by Les_MiserableAtBest



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - East of the Sun and West of the Moon Fusion, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Jon is Hector btw, Quest for Camelot!AU, The Borgias!AU, Trojan War!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-05-08 20:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14701959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Les_MiserableAtBest/pseuds/Les_MiserableAtBest
Summary: Different versions of the same love, Jon and Arya.





	1. Naked, Clean, and Bloodless

**Author's Note:**

> An AU of Jon/Arya reimagined as the Borgia siblings. Direct quotes taken from The Borgias(2011)

Arya Stark was covered in the blood of her husband, lying next to his not yet cold corpse. Her second husband, a man whose only real crime was his love for her, a crime he had died for. Like her poor Gendry, the father of her child. It seemed her lovers had a tendency to fall at her brothers hands. She had loved the poor stableboy once, though never as much as she had loved Jon. She had thought she loved Edric once as well. She had meant to be loyal to him, she had chosen him after all. She had not meant to abandon him until he had raged at her on their wedding night.

* * *

 

_“Is this all I am to your family?!” Edric shouted. “A question mark!” And he left her._

* * *

 

That night she had felt God, had felt a love so great it had consumed her. It was a sin, of course, one of the blackest sins to commit. How could it be a sin to love someone so much?

* * *

 

_“They already whisper it of us,” She had said breathy. “Why deny ourselves the pleasure we are already accused of? It seems only a Stark can love a Stark.” The words had broken him, he brought her lips to his own hungrily. His hands, which knew every inch of her body, explored it almost reverently, his fingers stopping at her cunt, already dripping in anticipation. He grinned against her mouth when she gasped and writhed._

_“Tell me what you want my love.” He growled in her ear._

_“You,” She breathed out. “You will be my husband tonight.”_

_“Anything for you sis.”_

* * *

 

Jon and Arya had always been close, since she was born. He, in all of his 5 year old wisdom, had claimed her then as his most precious love. He was her greatest love and she was his. He had cried when she had consummated her marriage to poor Edric, as he stood there watching, his own grey eyes meeting her own, bringing her to her peak. Tears had run down his cheeks even as he stiffened at her gasps, at her eyes beating into his soul. And then he had left her for France, and with him her own soul went.

“I will never wash this blood away.” She said softly, her voice thick. This was her own doing, she had mixed the poison, she had driven Edric to the point of confronting Jon. What a foolish thing of him to do! Jon was stronger, bore more skill with a blade. And Jon was a Stark, perhaps the most notorious one.

“Then I must.” His voice was gentle, far too gentle.

* * *

 

_“You are Arya Stark. You are the scandal of Italy. You are the envy of Italy. We are the unholy family.”_

* * *

 

Arya had not wanted this life. She had only married cruel Viserys at the behest of her father. She told Jon once she would never love a husband as much as she loved him. She had not realized the that she sealed her own tragedy with those prophetic words. When she was a child she had told Catelyn she was going to run away with Jon and they would travel the world. Their mother had just smiled softly, indulging a child’s whim. Nobody had thought it odd then, the love between the two siblings. It has always been that way, her and Jon. She lay there still and silent as her greatest love began to take a cloth and wipe away her husbands blood. It had been Jon who started this hunger inside of her. When he had kissed her by the seating charts before her wedding. But it was she who had brought this ruin upon them.

* * *

 

_“Where is the scandal?” He asked, close to her ear. He kissed her hand. “We are family, we love each other. We are Spanish, we embrace.” With those words he pulled her close to him. She pulled away._

_“You know where the scandal is.”_

* * *

 

She was the scandal of Italy after all, one after another. She loved her brother in an unholy way, but it did not seem that way in her heart. It felt perfectly natural. Jon had always been her best friend, her best brother. Loving Jon came as easy as breathing.

Jon wiped away the blood from her breasts and neck, laying kisses there.

“You will once again be naked,” He kissed her neck, just below her chin. “And clean,” he wiped the blood away from her face. “And bloodless,” He kisses her cheek. “And mine.”


	2. The Fall of a City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was the most beautiful woman in the world, he was a prince of Troy, their story intertwining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Arya in the Trojan War

_ Was this the face that launched a thousand ships?  _ He wondered. He remembered the first time he had seen her. She had been just a girl then, though blossoming into a beauty. It was Athens that he had seen her, on the arm of the supposed son of Poseidon.  _ ‘One day, this cousin of mine shall be the most beautiful woman in the world.’  _ Theon, the king of Athens, had declared. She had been stoic faced, but his arms bore scratches that he suspected were from her. He had joined her brothers, the twins Robb and Bran, fellow princes, in stealing her away from the city. She had snarled at them, claiming she hadn’t needed their help, but later he had heard her weeping in the comfort of their arms. She had been barely thirteen then and already she could cause wars with her beauty. It was not her beauty that he had fallen in love with though. He had loved her will and her strength. Her wildness that was new to him to see in a princess. She was how he always imagined a queen. Kind and generous, she made friends everywhere in Greece. He had delayed his return home to Troy to escort her home to Sparta. He lingered in Sparta far too long. Long enough for them to realize how they felt. That was when her father had ordered the games. How the men of Greece had competed for her hand! And for her throne. She had begged him to compete but he had committed himself to the throne of Troy. If he had been a second son, then perhaps, but he was to be king. She had thrown her hands on him, pummeling his chest, saying she hated him. That she never wanted to see him again. 

_ And yet here she stands.  _ He looked up at her, praying to the gods to give him strength. She was quite a beauty. Her long dark hair fell down to almost her waist, silver braided into it. Her dress was a sheer silver over a tunic of blue, adorned in only simple jewels. Aegon had been an absolute fool to bring Arya of Sparta to Troy, but he could not be blamed for being enchanted by her. Truly every man who had known her loved her. She met his eyes, a darkness overcast in the deep grey of her own eyes. She was afraid. But Jon was not afraid, not after seeing her one last time. He could not beat the invincible hero. He would not make it home to see his wife Arianne and their son, nor his father. This was the war Aegon had started and today Jon was paying for that sin with his life. Yet somehow he was not afraid. It was a relief to the torment he had felt since she had come to Troy. He loved his wife, but his heart was devoted to Arya. It was a cruel jest of the gods to make him watch as his damned brother paraded her around all of Troy as though she was a prize and not a queen. Jon looked back at the warrior he was to face. One who had never lost. He grimaced and gripped his sword, prepared for combat. 

* * *

 

        The city was burning. Troy was no more, all that was left was death and fire. Women and children slaughtered by the Greeks. Arya looked into her bronze dagger, a gift from her favorite goddess, Aphrodite. It reflected the battle down below. Her eyes burned with tears, but not for the fallen city. She was Spartan after all, she knew the cost of war, no she had tears for the beloved prince. She had loved him for so long and she had watched him die. She had killed him, in a way. She had loved him and he had died, but she knew what she had to do. She had cut off her hair and donned the armor of Aegon, who had fled most likely. Her dagger had shown her exactly what she needed to know. She ran through the city, a bow in her hands and a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder. She found the great hero Loras fighting some Trojan warriors. She drew her bow, aiming. 

“Loras,” She called. He turned to face her, leaving the Trojans bleeding. “They say you have gods blood. I hope you did not forget you are the only one.” With a quick prayer to Apollo she shot her arrow hitting her mark before he had time to react. It was his ankle that was the spot. The one place tethering him to humanity. The greatest hero of Greece fell down dead at the hands of a daughter of Zeus. 

* * *

 

      Gendry found his wife gazing into her dagger, kneeling in the temple of her father. She was naked, her body glistening with sweat and dirt, her once glorious hair had been cut into short choppy pieces. He raised his sword, walking slowly into the temple. 

“You have come here to kill me,” She stated calmly, letting no emotion through. “I have come here to die.” She added. She looked back at him, tears streaming through her grimy face. She had never cried in front of him before. Not once. 

“I have come here to take my wife home.” He responded. 

“I have no home. It has been taken from me.” She looked back into her dagger as she said this. 

“Sparta is your home.  _ Our  _ home.” He shot back. 

“Not anymore, husband. We cannot return there, it holds nothing now for us but a daughter grown ruling over it as queen.” He tightened his grip on his sword, fury returning to him. She stood then, facing him, still holding the bronze dagger and gazing into it. He noticed now the burns and blood covering her body, the weakness in the way she stood. “I saw it. My death. I saw it first when I received this blade and I have been running from it since then. Too many years, husband, have I been afraid to die,” She tore her eyes away from the dagger and met his eyes. She handed him the blade and he grabbed it by its hilt. “Look into it and you will see it too, see what I’ve been running from.” His eyes never left hers, staring into the deep grey that had eluded him for so long. She came closer, limping as she walked. “I should have known all this time the fate I accepted when I took this gift.” Thunder cracked outside with a boom. He hardened his eyes, gripping the dagger tightly. 

“I think your father is calling you home, my love.” And he ran her through with her own blade. Her body fell to the ground with a soft thud, a smile tracing her lips. He looked back at the blade and wiped off the blood, trying to see the sight that had so terrified his young wife. 

All he saw was his own reflection. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya-Helen  
> Jon-Hector  
> Aegon-Paris  
> Gendry-Menelaus


	3. East of the Sun, West of the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes they do get a fairy tale ending after all.

Once there was a poor farmer whose wife bore him five children, all beloved to him, but none so precious as his youngest daughter, called Arya. The man, Ned Stark, had once apprenticed to the famous mapmaker, Hoster Tully. It was there he met his wife Catelyn. He was a talented mapmaker, but for the fact he held a distaste for traveling. He instead settled on farming land he rented as his wife bore him his children. They struggled some, but they managed to get by. That is until his elder daughter, Sansa, fell ill.  

His youngest daughter, Arya, was a wild girl, brave and adventurous. She only sat still long enough to work on the loom, something she enjoyed greatly. Her elder sister had a very different disposition. She was a soft child and her illness was hard on the family. She was bound to her bed, growing no worse, and yet no better either. Catelyn was distraught and Ned was worn to the bone.   
  
It came upon a day, late at the fall of the year, the weather was so wild and rough outside, and it was so cruelly dark, and rain fell and wind blew, till the walls of the cottage shook again. There they sat around the fire. But just then, all at once something gave three taps on the window-pane. Then Ned went out to open the front door and who should he find but a giant White Wolf. 

“If you but give me your youngest daughter, you will no longer be poor, but rich. The one who falls close to death will be made well again.”  

“No.” He said firmly, giving it no consideration. The wolf shook its head.

“Do not answer now.” It spoke, in its deep gravel-like voice. “I will return in seven days for your answer.” Then the wolf turned and disappeared into the night. 

Ned turned to his family. Catelyn looked at him desperate. 

“My answer is no.” He said. “I will not trade the life of one daughter for another.” And that was that. Ned would hear no arguments from his children, nor his wife. 

But his youngest daughter had ideas of her own. For years Arya had watched her family suffer. She had watched as her sister wasted away. Arya had always been a burden on her parents, she knew that much. Her mother was always telling her to be more like Sansa. The only skill her mother was proud of was her weaving. Arya had made her choice and she intended to follow through. She had convinced her father to let her along to give the White Wolf its final answer. 

And so came the seventh day. Again there were three raps upon the door. Again the White Wolf stood in their small den. Again Ned Stark told the Wolf the answer was no. Arya, however, pulled a small pack out and a cloak she had woven. She kissed her Father goodbye and climbed on the back of the Wolf.  So, when they had gone a bit of the way, the White Wold asked,

“Are you afraid?”

“No,” she wasn’t.

“Well! mind and hold tight by my shaggy coat, and then there’s nothing to fear,” said the Wolf.

So she rode a long, long way, till they came to a great steep hill. There, on the face of it, the White Wolf gave a knock, and a door opened, and they came into a castle where there were many rooms all lit up; rooms gleaming with silver and gold; and there, too, was a table ready laid, and it was all as grand as grand could be. And the the Wolf padded away. She had never seen anything quite so awe inspiring in her life. There was food and drink aplenty and when she had her fill she began to explore. She found rooms full of music, rooms full of books, a room that had cloth and fabric in hundreds of glittering colors. She came upon, as well, a room made up for her. There was a bed with fresh linen and a night dress already out for her. The journey had been very long and she was very tired so she climbed into the bed quickly and fell asleep not long after. She was only awoken once, by a figure climbing into bed next to her. All lights had gone out by then and she could see nothing, but the figure did nothing but lie beside her at night. 

So, then they carried on for awhile. During the day she would read, dance, or weave. Often the Wolf would watch her with his sad eyes and soon she spoke to him quite often. He was a good friend to her and she suspected that it was him who came into her bed at night, shedding his wolf skin. Things went on happily for a while, but at last she began to get silent and sorrowful; for there she went about all day alone, and she longed to go home to see her father and mother and brothers and sister. So one day, when the White Wolf asked what it was that she lacked, she said it was so dull and lonely there, and how she longed to go home to see her father and mother and brothers and sister, and that was why she was so sad and sorrowful, because she couldn’t get to them.

“Well, well!” said the Wolf, “Then I shall take you to see them,” For he could deny her nothing. “but you must promise me one thing, not to talk alone with your mother, but only when the rest are by to hear; for she’ll take you by the hand and try to lead you into a room alone to talk; but you must mind and not do that, else you’ll bring bad luck on both of us.” She agreed happily. 

Arya climbed upon the back of the Wolf and he took her to a grand house. 

“This is where your family lives now,” the Wolf said to her. “I will return for you in a fortnight, but be mindful of what I told you.” 

Arya ran to her family, filled with excitement. Her father spun her around and she was told of all the glory that had come to the family in her absence. They all asked her questions about the Wolf and where he had taken her, but Arya shared no secrets. She said only that she was happy and treated well. Ned tried only once to convince her to stay. She informed him that she would not break the promise she had made to the Wolf. Catelyn tried many times to get Arya alone, but she minded what the Wolf said and put her off. 

Somehow though, Catelyn managed to get her alone and Arya woefully shared her tale. She told her of the man who came to her bed every night, but was gone by morning. 

“My!” Catelyn cried. “It may be a troll that comes to you! Don’t worry child, I have a gift for you.” She presented her a bit of candle. “Light this and then you can see what he looks like.” 

The next day the Wolf came to fetch her. They returned to the castle in the hillside and that night, after the man came into her bed once ore, Arya pulled out the piece of candle and lit it. There on the bed was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He has a long face and dark curls. She gasped audibly and three drops of tallow fell onto his shirt, waking him up. 

“What have you done?!” He cried out. “If you had only held out the year! Now she is coming for me and I must go with her!” Arya wept. 

“Where?” She asked. “I will find you.” The man who was a wolf shook his head ruefully. 

“It is a land East of the Sun and West of the Moon.” He said mournfully. At that moment a sled appeared. On it was a beautiful woman, with snow white skin and silver hair falling down her back. She took the man into her sled and was gone as quickly as she came, leaving Arya behind to mourn. She set to work right away. She packed herself a bag, including a beautiful dress of moon colored fabric she had woven(just in case) and set off to find the land East of the Sun and West of the Moon. Such a place was impossible, yes, but she had to try. She sailed far, listening to stories and continued her search. 

The search led her to one conclusion: the woman who had come to fetch the man who had been a wolf was in fact a troll. Arya had to set out North. 

The land there was harsh. She came upon, at last, the kingdom of the trolls. In the kingdom she managed to sneak in with the human slaves that the Troll Queen kept. They were given a warm drink that kept them alive, but made them forget their lives before. She dumped her drink away every time, though she soon began to starve. But Arya remained strong until she could find the man who had been a wolf. 

She found him soon as she had been put to work helping weave the Queen a dress for her upcoming wedding. The man who had been a wolf was the groom. She only got to see him from afar and her heart ached for him.

She refused to give up hope. She painted her face with coarse white paint to give the appearance of a troll and donned her moon dress and attended the dance before the wedding. There, by chance, he found her for a dance. 

At the end of the feast the man stood before the crowd with a request for his silver haired queen. 

“In my homeland it is a tradition that the bride must perform a task of the grooms choosing, to prove she can be a proper wife. I have here a shirt that needs washing. Only the woman who can wash it clean is fit to marry me.” He presented to the Queen the nightshirt with three tallow spots on it. She called for a bucket with soap and water, mildly amused at this silly gesture. But as she scrubbed it, the spots only grew. She grew frustrated, the more she scrubbed and rubbed and wringed it, the worse it became. 

Arya walked up to her and gently took the shirt. She was no queen, but she knew how to weave cloth and moreover she knew how to clean it. It took no time at all before she had the shirt white once more.

“Then she will be my bride!” Declared the man. The queen flew into such a rage then, she screamed until her own castle collapsed upon her and buried the trolls in ice and snow. Arya and the man, who revealed his name was Jon, fled the troll kingdom hastily and returned to the home of Arya’s family where they married on the spot. 

They then set off once more for a life of adventure await them, and they lived each moment quite fully. 


End file.
